


Come Alive Again

by Alitneroon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (at first), (mostly), Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post canon, Recovery, Slow Burn, canon has been gently pulled two inches to the left, they are soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-17 08:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18961942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitneroon/pseuds/Alitneroon
Summary: After all he's been through, Jon makes the decision to go north. There, maybe, he can find his happy ending.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes before going in:
> 
> Jonerys is referenced but I don't dwell on it much. 
> 
> Canon changes: Karsi is alive (because I love her and I wanted another canon character to play with). Briemund is pretty much nonexistent. Also, a good amount of free folk culture is based more on things from the books than the show.
> 
> I'm hoping to update twice a week (Saturdays and Wednesdays)!
> 
> Enjoy!!

Jon Snow was done with the south.

They’d tried to tell him he was a Targaryen, a Stark, a lord, the lord commander, the prince who was promised, the chosen one, Aegon, the King in the North, the King of the whole bloody Seven Kingdoms. He didn’t want any of those things.

He didn’t know who he was anymore, down here. He was sick and tired of people pushing and pulling him in all directions, making him into more than he was. The only thing he’d ever cared about was defeating the night king, and they’d done it. Past that it had all gotten so complicated, and only ended in tragedy. He shivered and tried desperately not to think about it.

Every night was colder as he made his way north. He welcomed it. The only place he’d ever felt like himself was at the wall, where the chill crept into your bones and every breath hurt. He’d been burning in the south. All his life he’d wondered what it was like to be truly warm, and he was disappointed. It wasn’t comfortable, just sticky and bothersome. And it smelled.

He was thinking like Tormund, he realized. Tormund would be waiting up at castle black with the other wildlings. Jon wasn’t sure what would happen to him when he arrived, or what the future held, but he would be happy to see Tormund again. He’d never felt the need to pretend to be anyone else around him. That was what he needed now. And Ghost, as well. The direwolf had been through his side through so much. He’d been right that the south was no place for a direwolf – he’d just forgotten that applied to himself as well.

Finally they crested a hill and saw the wall in the distance. Jon didn’t know how to feel about it. So much had happened here. By now, it felt more like home than anywhere else, but he’d also been murdered here, and fought, and lost, and doubted himself terribly. There was still a part of him that remembered fighting with Grenn and Pyp in the yard, and talking to Sam on top of the wall, and his uncle – but the words “Lord Snow” still whispered in his mind.

Jon could barely breathe as they rode up to the gates. He hadn’t felt like he could breathe properly since they left king’s landing. Everything was over – everything he’d fought for since he’d left home the first time. He’d never wanted things to end like this. It felt like an ending. The gates loomed before them, and the single blast of the horn echoed off the wall like a mournful cry. Jon stepped through the gates slowly and looked around the courtyard. It was just as he’d remembered it – they’d repaired it back to its former state. He almost wished he could see something new, something to remind him of all that had happened.

Tormund was waiting for him on the balcony.

Jon looked up and caught his eye, and softly let out a breath. He was frowning, staring at Jon with sorrow in his eyes. Jon felt relief wash over him; he felt seen. Tormund would understand, or at the very least accept everything that had happened. As he walked his horse across the courtyard, he didn’t look away. He met his gaze, confronting everything in it, grounding himself in it. He finally looked away as he passed, but was still comforted by knowing he was there.

Jon dismounted in front of the lord commander. He didn’t know the man, but the way he was waiting with the new maester at his side gave him away. His name was Darron Swyft, if he remembered correctly.

“Welcome back, Jon Snow,” He said.

Jon nodded. “Thank you,” He barely managed, knowing it was expected of him. The last thing he wanted to do was speak to these people. If only he could find Tormund, maybe he could stop feeling so hollow. The man had enough life in him for both of them.

“I imagine you are tired from your journey. You know your way around here – we had your old quarters prepared for you. Not the lord commander’s rooms, of course.”

Jon wasn’t sure if it was meant as an insult or not, but it still stung like ice. “We’ll talk later, then?”

“At dinnertime, if that’s suitable?”

“Yes, that will be fine.” The words were flat. He couldn’t summon the energy. Without another word he turned around to retreat to the safety of his room.

It was empty except for the bed and the small bare table beside it. Alone for the first time in weeks, Jon collapsed onto the bed and put his head in his hands. He drew in a long, shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was cold in here, and drab, and dusty. He couldn’t bring himself to move and unpack. He didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want this to be the rest of his life.

There was a knock at the door, and Jon nearly felt sick with dread. He didn’t answer. They knocked again. Jon prepared himself and looked up. “What is it,” He managed, his voice weak.

The door opened. Tormund stepped inside and closed it behind him. He stopped in the middle of the room. “Are you alright?”

Jon considered lying. Carrying on. But he couldn’t, not in front of Tormund, and he wouldn’t believe him anyway. So he shook his head, barely enough for him to see. He met Tormund’s eyes, expecting more questions, or some joke to cheer him up, or some advice that was almost, but not quite, right – all the things he’d been getting ever since the guards had swarmed into the throne room.

Instead, Tormund crossed the room and knelt on the bed facing Jon. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him against his chest, just as rough and just as gentle as he always was. Jon collapsed into the embrace. He half-expected to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come, instead lodging themselves as a lump in his throat. Warmth started to creep into his bones from where Tormund held him, and he was soft but unyielding, a solid weight around him. His furs scratched gently at Jon’s cheek. Jon closed his eyes and felt the world shrink to just this, just them. For the shadow of a moment it felt as though maybe, it might be ok.

Tormund held him quietly for so long Jon’s leg started to fall asleep. He shifted, and Tormund finally spoke. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“Do you know what happened?” Jon answered.

“I know that you killed the dragon queen. But that’s all.”

Jon shivered. “Aye. I drove a knife in her heart and her dragon carried her away.” It played out in front of him again, like it had so many times in his dreams, and in his waking hours too. The shock on her face, the heat of the dragonfire. “I loved her,” He whispered. “Or at least I thought I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jon shook his head. He didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him. He wanted to be able to breathe again, but he didn’t deserve pity, not after what he’d done. “Don’t do that.”

“I–” Tormund started to speak, and stopped. Instead he just held Jon tighter.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Tormund was warm and real, and Jon started to believe he was real too. Lately he’d felt like a strong gust of wind could blow him away at any moment. But now he couldn’t deny that he was solid, made of skin and bone and muscle, and living.

“I need to clean up for dinner,” Jon finally said.

Tormund nodded, held him for another moment, and then let go. “I’ll see you there.”

Jon couldn’t meet his eyes. “Sure.”

He paused at the door for a moment. Jon tried to open his mouth to say thank you, but couldn’t. He was thankful, but it felt too easy a thing to say. He could barely even move.

Tormund left without another word.

Jon filled the drawers with his meager belongings, wiped his face clean, and sat thinking of nothing until the calls for dinner began to ring through the halls. He stood, walked out and down the hall, around the corner, down the stairs, across the courtyard, through the doors…

Most of the hall was filled with wildlings, and the two tables at the front with the watch. Only a few mingled together. Jon closed his eyes for a moment in disappointment. For all he’d fought for this, they would never truly get along. He supposed it was evidence enough that things were different that they were sitting in the same hall without killing each other, but none of them would ever really understand or love the other. Jon felt as though his heart was splitting in two.

Tormund waved him over. Among this sea of strangers he was the only familiar face. Jon balanced his bowl carefully and squeezed in beside him. The food tasted better than it used to, at least. Fresh crops were starting to flow in from the south, and now that winter was ending they felt no need to ration.

He sat and nursed his meal and his ale as the free folk laughed around him. Someone down the length of the table was telling what he gathered was an old story, from the anticipation and the way Tormund finished his sentences. They smiled and leaned into each other, and Jon sat curled in on himself, jealous beyond words. That world seemed to be closed to him now.

To his credit, Tormund didn’t try to brag about him. It would only have made him feel worse. Instead he seemed to shield him from the rest of the group, letting him eat in peace.

Jon looked up at the woman sitting across from them, and felt a flicker of recognition. He couldn’t place her, but she smiled at him like she knew him. He wondered where they’d met. He’d spent enough time with the free folk by now that it could have been anytime.

In a flash he realized. “You were at Hardhome,” He said, before realizing he’d said it aloud.

She paused, then nodded. “Aye.”

“You were the first to pledge your clan to us.”

“You do remember.” She put down her spoon. “I don’t suppose we were ever properly introduced. I’m Karsi.”

“I thought you’d be dead by now,” Jon said, matter of factly.

“I’m not,” Karsi answered. “Thanks to you.”

Jon froze, looked away. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“So am I.” She laughed. “Tormund said you were broody, but the description doesn’t come close to the real thing.”

Thankfully, Tormund interrupted. “What crow doesn’t brood a little?” He patted Jon’s shoulder, gave Karsi a serious glare which shut her right up, and started some other conversation with her, unrelated to him.

He endured the rest of dinner, and after the lord commander waved him over. He remained at the high table as the room emptied. Jon stood in front of him, a step down here.

“Is your room suitable?” Darron asked.

Jon nodded. “It’ll be fine.”

“Good.” He smiled at Jon, only a hint condescending. “Anything else you need?”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Jon started, then hesitated. He didn’t know this man well, he might take it as an insult. Jon didn’t really care enough, however. “Why is there still a night’s watch at all?”

“Not at all.” Darron shrugged. “It’s a fair question. The wildlings aren’t a threat, the walkers are gone. But the night’s watch is a part of the kingdoms. It makes their people feel safe to have us here, even if while they spit on us. Besides, you never know. The north is still wild, and not all of your wildlings are entirely fond of the watch. We are here just in case.”

Jon nodded after a moment. He supposed it made a kind of sense, from their perspective. It still felt wrong to Jon.

“We’ll bring you on as a ranger, given your experience,” Darron said. “You don’t need to train again. You can take your vows tonight, if you wish. No sense putting it off.”

Jon shrugged. “Might as well get it over with.”

Darron gave him a skeptical look, but seemed to understand, or accept it anyway. “You remember the words?”

“Always.”

“Whenever you’re ready, then.” Darron gestured in his direction.

Jon swallowed, and hesitated. The first time he had done this, he’d been standing before a weirwood with Sam. He’d felt then like every word meant the world. And it had, for a time. _The shield that guards the realms of men_ had haunted his mind through all the turmoil, all the doubt. Now, though, it was the barest echo of a past that was over. He didn’t need to go to the weirwood now. He didn’t want to face his gods now. He started the words, but they felt empty. “Night gathers, and now my watch begins…”

 

***

 

He was given a black cloak, and left the hall. He’d gone through the motions, slept and ate and watched and ate and slept again. It got easier, day by day. He could forget all that happened for a time. He wasn’t happy, but he could speak at least, and do his work.

The snows were slowly melting down to a dusting. Spring was in the air. The free folk would be leaving soon. He hadn’t spoken to them much. He hadn’t spoken to anyone much.

When Tormund appeared in his room that night, it was a surprise. He’d seen him around, of course, but they had both been busy with their respective duties. He was glad to see him now. He was waiting for Jon, sitting on a chest at the foot of the bed.

“We’re leaving within the month,” Tormund said as soon as he entered. He waited for Jon to answer.

Jon sat on the bed near him. “I know.” He sighed. “You should still take Ghost with you. He makes the men here nervous.”

Tormund didn’t speak for a long moment. Jon looked over at him and found him staring at the wall. He could have sworn he looked nervous. “You could come with us,” He finally whispered.

Jon’s heart leapt into his throat. “I can’t,” He said. “I took a vow.”

Tormund shook his head. “You southerners and your vows. They seem designed to make you miserable.”

“I’ve broken one too many. I swore I would serve here as punishment for my crimes, and I’m going to do that. I wish I could go,” He said softly. “I really do. But they’d hang me for deserting.”

“You’d be north of the wall, in the wilderness. Outside their reach.”

“And if I ever wanted to come back? To see Sansa, or anyone else?” He turned and put a hand on Tormund’s arm, catching his attention. “Tormund, I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you terribly, and I hope we see each other again, really. But our paths diverge here.”

Tormund looked away. “I want you to come with us. I don’t want to lose you.”

The admission caught Jon off guard. He knew Tormund liked him, and they’d been through a lot together, but he hadn’t thought the feelings went that deep. Part of him – most of him – ached to take him up on the offer. To run free, with Ghost and Tormund at his side. To leave this miserable place behind. It wouldn’t be right, though, not when he’d pledged his service to the watch again, when he’d agreed in return for everything he’d done. He didn’t deserve that kind of ending. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Jon, you’ve been doing the right thing at cost to yourself your entire life. You’ve been fighting our battles, winning our wars. Been selfless. But they _don’t need you anymore._ Look around you. The watch is nothing but ceremony now.” Tormund turned and held Jon’s cheek with his hand, forcing Jon to meet his eyes, as though what he was saying was something fundamental, as though the world rested on it. “Be _selfish,_ for once in your life.”

Jon couldn’t respond. He didn’t know how to properly convey to Tormund just how much he wanted to agree, and why he couldn’t. Tormund was right. They didn’t need him, they were a shell of the past. But maybe he could at least do some good here – train the young boys, help turn the watch into something positive. Guide them, help them rebuild.

“Are you going to stay locked up here your entire life, pretty crow? Or are you going to fly?”

Jon shook his head. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Think hard. Think about what you want. Not what they want.” Tormund stood and crossed the room. He turned back at the door. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Tormund,”Jon said. The door shut and silence filled the room.

 

***

 

 _What they want._ The words echoed through Jon’s head the next day as he went about his duties. Half the men here looked at him like a god, and the other half seemed to resent him for it. It reminded him too much of what things had been like before his murder. _Do they want me here?_   Jon suddenly wasn’t so sure.

The free folk mingled with the night’s watch in the yard. Among them were many children, running back and forth and narrowly avoiding getting under their feet. After everything, Jon could smile at that. He stopped at the side of the yard and watched them for a while.

Everything he’d done before – working with the wildlings, making that deal, being murdered for it, taking back Winterfell – it had been for this. For them, for the future. For a moment he even felt proud.

Before he could turn away one of them ran up to him, pulled at his cloak for him to look down. “Are you him? Are you the crow?” He asked, all smiles.

Jon nodded, grinning. “I’m a crow, anyway.”

“The one Tormund always talked about. The hero!” He danced around Jon, and Jon turned to follow him. “Can you come play with us?”

Jon shook his head sadly. “I have duties. But maybe later.”

The boy cheered. “Later, then!” He yelled, and ran off.

Jon stood and watched him go. He felt something shift in his mind and his heart. Out there beyond the wall, with Tormund, with Ghost, the free folk would be there as well. The free folk who had done nothing but thank him, and smile at him, from the moment he’d arrived. He’d fought for them once, and felt like he had a purpose. There was nothing left here at the wall worth saving – nothing they couldn’t build themselves.

But he could keep fighting for the free folk. He could believe that this was right.

Jon took a deep breath and turned away from where he’d been going, headed to the lord commander’s chambers instead. He knocked on the door and held his breath, and for the first time in weeks, felt like he had a goal. Maybe not a purpose, yet. But a goal.

“Come in.” The steward opened the door. Jon stepped inside and Darron dismissed the boy. “What can I do for you, Snow?”

Jon dipped his head in respect, briefly. “As you must know, the free folk will be leaving soon. Perhaps… it would be a good idea for someone to accompany them, for a time. Be sure that they find their way, bring help from us if needed.”

“And I assume you are offering to be this person?”

Jon nodded.

Darron gave him a long look. “I could sanction it. It doesn’t make much sense, though, you must admit. The wildlings are more competent than us beyond the wall.”

Jon held his breath. “Maybe. But it would be a gesture of good will, and hopefully keep communications open between us.”

Darron smiled a thin smile. His eyes were hard, but sparkling with just a hint of mischief. “You’re not planning on coming back, are you.”

Jon opened his mouth to lie, but there was something else in the lord commander’s gaze. He wasn’t angry. Just clever. He shook his head. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

Darron crossed his arms and leaned back. “Here, you would only undermine my authority. Half the men think you’re a god. A legion of former thieves and farm boys, who look at you and see a hero they can never live up to?” He shook his head. “Do you think I was happy to hear they were sending you to us?”

“I– I suppose I never thought of it that way,” Jon said.

“We need room to grow into our own, and we can’t do that under your shadow. Without you, perhaps we’ll make men of the night’s watch of them yet.”

Silence settled over the room. Jon stared at Darron. _He’ll be a good lord commander,_ Jon thought. Not a great one, but a good one. He had the best of Jon’s own skill and willingness to bend the rules, and the best of Alliser’s steadfastness and determination. The watch would survive in his hands, and learn what it was now.

“You’ll allow it, then?” Jon finally said.

Darron stood and came around the table. He offered his hand. Jon shook it. “I wish you the best of luck, Jon Snow. Come visit us sometime. They could use a bit of inspiration every once in a while.”

 

***

 

Jon left feeling lighter. He went to find Tormund, to tell him. He turned out to be on top of the wall, after Jon asked around. He rode the lift and shivered against the cold wind, but was glad for the fresh air on his face.

Tormund was staring out into the north. He looked over as Jon approached and acknowledged him with a nod and a gentle smile.

The snow and ice crunched underfoot, and Jon stepped into Tormund’s shadow so we would block the wind. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

“It is. This, I will miss.”

“So will I,” Jon said. Tormund looked at him in surprise. “I’m coming with you.”

It took a moment to sink in, and then Tormund broke into a grin. He threw an arm around Jon’s shoulder and pulled him close. “I’m so happy to hear that, little crow.” He laughed, fussed Jon’s hair, and let him go. “Me, you, and Ghost, and all of that before us.”

Jon breathed in the icy air and felt Tormund’s warmth beside him. For the first time in weeks, he felt a spark of something like excitement in his chest. They were going _out there,_ out into the real north. Just like Tormund had said. He had the real north in him. The south could go fuck itself. Jon would miss Winterfell, but everything else he would be glad to leave behind. If he ever wanted to come back, the lord commander knew now – but he suspected he wouldn’t want to come back.

They left less than a week later. It became clear that Tormund had mostly been waiting for Jon’s decision. They were ready for a while, but he’d put off the final preparations, hoping that Jon would come.

The morning arrived. Tormund found Jon in his chambers, packing up the last of his belongings. “Ready?”

Jon nodded, and stood. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He walked out into the yard, seeing the free folk gathered and waiting for him. They smiled as he went past. Jon smiled back, truly happy to be among them.

There, waiting at the side of the crowd, was Ghost. Jon knelt in front of him, and laughed as Ghost pushed his nose into Jon’s hair. He felt the tightness in his body that he’d carried with him since king’s landing loosen. He wouldn’t be leaving Ghost behind, this time. He’d be with him from now on, by his side. And so would another.

Tormund sat waiting on his horse. Jon’s own was saddled beside him, a wildling woman holding the reigns. Jon took them from her and climbed onto the horse, settling in for the long ride ahead of him.

The last time he had gone through these gates with Tormund, the other way, he’d had only doubt. Now, he had hope. Together they led his people through the wall, out and under, and into the fresh wide open of the north. As the gates closed behind them, Jon took one last look.

He turned back around. The south might as well not exist now. With the great forests and mountains laid out before him, Jon could almost believe it. Following the tiny stirrings of life, in his heart and around him, he walked out into the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

The north was beautiful. Jon had missed this more than he had known. Stretching a hundred miles to the east and two hundred to the west and who knew how far to the north, open and wild, it seemed to Jon that there was nowhere he couldn’t go. Yet he felt safe among the free folk. They knew this land better than the night’s watch ever would. With a steady hand they guided the group over ice fields and rivers, through valleys and passes. The depth of their knowledge comforted Jon.

In the darkness the threat of the walkers was no longer there, replaced by the everyday threats of cold and hunger and the animals. Jon wasn’t sure if it was in his head or not, but he felt as though the land itself was friendlier somehow. That sinister force no longer lurked around every corner, never weighed on his mind.

Tormund was riding out at the front of the column, while he took the back. In between all the wildling children slowly walked.

Unfortunately, the walking gave Jon plenty of time to think.

His thoughts spiraled in on themselves, eating Jon alive. He still didn’t know if he’d done the right thing. Daenerys had intended to help people, but what she’d done– Jon hadn’t fought to unite dragons and southern kings and wildlings against the walkers for that. He worried that it was his fault. If he’d been there earlier, or loved Daenerys the way she’d wanted him to, maybe… maybe. Maybe things would be different.

When they made camp that night, Jon stayed in his tent. He’d brought some wine along from the south and hadn’t run out yet. He didn’t want to face any of them right now. Many of the free folk seemed to worship the ground he walked on, and it Jon didn’t want to have to confront that. He didn’t want to smile and nod. He didn’t deserve that praise.

Ghost curled sleeping inside the tent flap, just off of his bed. The last rays of the setting sun were draining out of the sky. A pair of footsteps approached his tent. Jon sat up and tried to look a little less miserable.

Tormund crouched down and stuck his head in the opening, reaching down to pet Ghost on the head. “Mind if I come in?”

Jon nodded reluctantly. “Go ahead.”

Tormund sat down heavily on the edge of the bedding and pulled off his boots. He pulled himself over and sat cross-legged in front of Jon. “Is that wine?”

Jon held it out to him wordlessly. Tormund took it, and drank. “How are things out there?” Jon asked, just to make conversation.

“Same as always. Nothing interesting.” Tormund passed the wine back to Jon. “Why are you hiding in here?”

The words he wanted to say stuck in Jon’s throat. Normally he would trust Tormund with anything, but he didn’t think he knew how to explain this. He could scarcely believe it had happened himself. Besides, Tormund didn’t care for politics or complicated things, he probably wouldn’t understand. Jon shook his head instead of answering.

“Well, unless you’ve got something else hidden away, there’s nothing to eat in here. We’re making food soon.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Tormund went quiet. He put a hand on Jon’s knee, leaned forward. “I’ve never seen you like this, Jon. Tell me what’s wrong.”

How could Jon answer that? How could he explain the way his heart had shriveled and died, to Tormund or anyone else? “I don’t know,” He admitted. “That’s the truth. I don’t know.”

Tormund seemed to accept that for the moment, at least. “Let’s talk about something else, then. Anything else. How was your ride today?”

“I rode.” Jon shrugged. “What do you want to hear?”

“What did you see, who did you talk to. If you’re sore or not.”

Jon sighed. “The views were nice. Your land is beautiful. The waterfall was especially nice. And you?”

“I saw an eagle soaring up above us. I saw fish jumping in the stream. I saw water dripping off the ice, and deer tracks – all the signs of spring.” Tormund raised his eyebrows. “Learn to look. It’ll make the days a lot better.”

Jon smiled. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“The more you look, the more you’ll learn, the more obvious it’ll be.”

 “Could you teach me? If I ride beside you tomorrow? I want to see the land the way you do. It sounds like a beautiful place.”

“Of course.” Tormund reached out a hand for the wine and Jon passed it over. “Are you going to come out and sit with us?”

Jon almost said no out of stubbornness, but Tormund was a hard man to refuse. He shrugged. “Maybe I could eat a little.”

He trailed behind Tormund and they found an empty spot by the nearest fire. Jon sat while Tormund grabbed food for them both – stew, and some bread they’d brought from the watch. For all Jon’s protesting he felt hungry when he smelled the food. It helped to eat, and warmed him up a little.

Almost as soon as he’d finished his meal Tormund started in on some story. He stood up to emphasize his point, gesturing wildly and shouting. It was the Tormund he was used to again, the one that was loud and expansive in everything he did. Jon looked around then, and saw the smiling faces of the other free folk around the fire. They clearly looked up to Tormund, admired him and loved him. He made a good leader to them, not because he was better than them or wanted to be in charge, but because he gave everything his all and would never stop fighting for them. It was something he had always admired about Tormund too.

When they’d been beyond the wall Jon had looked up to Tormund’s ferocity as an example too. He kept going, no matter what. He’d known Tormund and his bravery well enough to know that he would keep fighting for his people even if it meant working with the enemy. But after that, when he’d decided to fight alongside Jon as they took back Winterfell and defeated the walkers, that bravery and loyalty took on a whole new meaning. Of all the people Jon might have trusted to be at his side now, Tormund might be his first choice. Tormund would never quit on him or abandon him.

Tormund paused in his story for a moment, short enough that Jon might not have caught it if he wasn’t already staring. He looked over to Jon, and Jon realized he was smiling. Tormund smiled back, and nodded, and turned away to go back to telling, but that nod was all Jon needed to understand. This story was of course for the others, but mostly it was for him. Jon hadn’t laughed at the story but it did make him feel better. He appreciated the effort on Tormund’s part.

The story ended and Tormund came to sit by Jon. He shifted closer until he was pressed against Jon’s side. Jon leaned into the touch. Up here this kind of thing was normal – body heat was useful when the chill never really left the air. He was glad to be living in such a place. Down south he would have gotten looks for this, and up here he could embrace it without judgement. It made Jon feel safe to have such a solid presence against him.

“You have enough to eat?” Tormund asked.

Jon nodded. “Thanks for dragging me out here.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want my pretty crow to be sad by himself.”

They sat like that until the fire burned down to ashes. The conversation rolled around them, the two of them an island. Jon felt himself nodding off, ready to crawl back to his tent.

“We should rest for tomorrow,” Jon said.

Neither moved for a little while longer, until Tormund stretched and stood. He offered Jon a hand and pulled him up into a hug. “Sleep well. There are many miles ahead of us.”

Jon crawled into his tent and started to fall asleep almost immediately. He was tired down to the bone, and still felt heavy, but he wasn’t so anxious as earlier. Swirling thoughts of what he had done had been replaced by the ghost of the heat against his side, and Jon drifted off to sleep.

 

***

 

The elders of the free folk clans had gathered in the center of the camp to discuss where they were going next. Around him Jon saw men and women dressed in all sorts of wildling clothes – all wearing furs but adorned with shells, bones, flowers and carvings. To his right a woman wore a shawl entirely made of weirwood leaves, bright crimson against the snow.

Jon felt out of place. He’d been given furs – they were warmer up here than his night’s watch cloak, and more practical – but he was entirely unadorned, and all too aware that he wasn’t truly part of the free folk. Tormund had told him he should come, and that he would be missed if not, but all he did was sit in the circle and listen.

“We came up here to be free. Each of our clans has lost so much – we need to rebuild our peoples and our traditions,” The woman next to him was saying. “I wish to be a part of my clan again, and not just one of the ‘free folk’.”

“There are so few of use remaining now, Brynne,” Tormund said. “We should pool our forces, until we’re stronger.”

“And when will that be? We were made to wander, and we’re finally free to do so again.”

“The children can’t wander like you can,” Karsi cut in. “There are toddlers, babies with us. Did you wander with them before?”

“Not far,” Brynne admitted.

“What does it look like we’re doing now?” Another man from across the circle said. He was a hornfoot, Jon thought – His name was Marron, they’d been introduced before. “We’re already walking, and they’re surviving well enough.”

“A boy walked away and died two days ago,” Someone else said quietly. “Fell into a crevasse. Our lives were always hard and our children always vulnerable here, but they are more precious now than ever before, and less prepared. Many of them are young enough that they’ve never really known the true north the way we who have lived in it our whole lives do.”

“Varya is right,” Karsi said. “We didn’t fight southern kings and white walkers for those surviving to die of the cold. We need time to rebuild our numbers before we can rebuild the rest.”

Brynne shook her head just slightly, but stepped back.

“We are more than capable of surviving just as well on our own as we are together,” Marron said. “We banded together for Mance, and for this southern king –” He gestured at Jon, “Because we _had_ to. I don’t want to live with shore people and nightrunners anymore.”

“That _southern king_ did something no one had ever done before, by bringing us together with the kneelers,” Tormund said. “He and Mance brought us together for more than survival. Let’s not throw all of that away now.”

“The battle’s not over,” Jon said, and then realized he’d said it aloud. All heads turned to him. He sat up and raised his voice. “The battle’s not over until your future is secure. And if we can secure that future by continuing to work together, all of us – then that’s what we should do.”

Karsi stood. “Look around you. The north is still hard, and we haven’t lived in it properly for years. Our halls are empty, our camps gone. We should find a place where we can settle together, like we did at hardhome.”

“Agreed. Does anyone know of such a place?” Tormund asked.

A younger woman of one of the interior clans stood nervously. “There is a lake, a few hundred miles to the west, with forests nearby. It’s rich hunting, not too far from the coast. And there are caves and hot springs there are well. Something to suit everyone, I would think.”

“The giant’s foot, you mean?”

“Aye, at the outlet of that valley.” She nodded and sat back down. “A suggestion.”

“I know the place.” Tormund looked around, waiting for comment. “I think it would work well. If no one has a better idea, then that’s where we’ll go.”

Slowly, the elders bowed their heads in agreement. Only a few took longer to decide, but eventually they all agreed. Jon smiled at Tormund standing in the middle of it all. He could probably be king-beyond-the-wall, if he wanted the title. These elders – though many of them were younger now – all saw him as a leader, and followed his word whether he wanted them to or not. Jon remembered how hard Tormund had laughed when they first met, when he’d assumed he was the legendary king, but who could blame him? Looking at him now, it didn’t seem strange at all.

“We’ll build a settlement there, then. Until the children are old enough to range outward,” Karsi said. “We’ll be free to leave whenever, of course – no one can hold the free folk to any one place. But I pledge my clan to stay there in the meantime, until we are strong enough to leave.”

“I know this place as well,” Brynne said. She looked strong as an old tree from head to toe, her hair grey and her weirwood-leaf cloak rustling in the wind. “The sap-folk have lived in that area before. If the place is suitable, we will make it our new home.”

“It’s agreed then.” Tormund turned to the young woman who had suggested the place. “Can you lead us there?” She nodded. “Then tomorrow, we turn west.”

The gathering dispersed quietly. Tormund came over to Jon and walked with him back towards their side of the camp. “You ready to live with us? To stop walking all the time?”

“Very ready,” Jon answered. “I think my bruises have bruises.”

Tormund laughed. “You’re still soft. We’ll make a wildling of you yet.”

 

*******

The first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the trees and out onto the barren plain that lay ahead of them. Jon yawned and stretched, waiting for the camp to come alive and begin the day. He’d awoken from a nightmare just before dawn, and couldn’t manage to get back to sleep.

Ghost came running out of the woods behind him, a rabbit in his jaws. He dropped it at Jon’s feet with pride. Jon laughed and rubbed the top of his head, at which Ghost whined in pleasure and then stretched and settled down by his side. He licked his lips, and Jon could tell that he had already eaten his fill. It would be rabbit for breakfast, then.

He shared it with a Nightrunner man who was already starting a cookfire. He introduced himself as Sigourn, and told Jon he had narrowly escaped hardhome on one of the last boats.

Jon shivered to think of it. “I’m glad you made it out. There were many who didn’t.”

“And many who did.” He passed the rabbit back over to Jon and pointed at a tent nearby. “I share that tent with my woman, Orla. She fought beside us at hardhome, and at Winterfell. Now we have a daughter, just born – Alys, after one of your Karstarks who died at Winterfell, who Orla befriended. Little Alys wouldn’t exist if not for you.”

Jon stared at Sigourn, jaw slack. They’d told him enough times about all the lives he’d saved, but it had never felt real until now. “Could I meet her?” He asked.

“Of course,” Sigourn answered. “Some other time, when she’s awake.”

“Of course.” Jon sat beside him for a while longer, until the camp was awake in earnest. He packed up his tent and his belonging into his saddlebags, and then began to walk around the camp to stay warm.

“Sleep well?” He suddenly heard Tormund call out behind him.

Jon shrugged. “Not really, but enough.”

“Well, we’ll have to get you moving anyways. No complaining!” Tormund clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder and grinned.

It got on Jon’s nerves a little bit, that he was such a morning person. But he had something important to say, and he could never really be mad at Tormund. “Did you know there are babies among us? Born after the war?”

He laughed. “Of course I know. What did you think, that because we were fighting we all suddenly stopped fucking? Fucking’s the best thing after a fight.”

“No, but I had sort of… forgotten what happens.” Jon saw Tormund open his mouth to tease him and quickly cut him off. “You don’t need to explain how babies are made to me, I’m well aware. It just hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Well, yes, it happened. Do you have a point?”

Jon stopped walking. He turned to face Tormund. “These people – and others – keep telling me they’re all alive because of me. I don’t know how to respond to it, usually, and I think they’re giving me too much credit. But they’re also leaving someone out.”

“And who would that be?”

“You.” Jon smiled. “I may have come to you with the idea, but if you had refused – I could never have gotten them to join us on my own. If I’m to thank, then you are as well. Without the free folk we could never have taken Winterfell, and without Winterfell we could never have defeated the walkers. From a certain point of view, every man, woman, and child in Westeros is alive because of you.”

The grin slowly fell from Tormund’s face, replaced by a small, sweet smile and a look of awe. “You still deserve that praise. I wouldn’t have thought to make a deal if you hadn’t come to me first. But thank you, Jon. That means more than you might ever know.”

“I’m only telling the truth.”

“Aye, but you’re _telling_ it.” Tormund started walking again, and Jon followed. “You know why I agreed to fight with you?”

“Because it made sense, and you were wise enough to see that.”

“Well, yes, it made sense. But on the other hand, it also made no sense at all.” He shook his head. “I’m not talking about why it was right. I’m talking about why I agreed to it.”

“I imagine you’re about to tell me?”

“I followed you because it was brave to ask me, and because I knew you were strong. But the real reason – the reason I could trust that your bravery and strength were real and not just an act – it was because you betrayed us.”

Jon looked over suddenly, startled. “What?”

“I might not have admitted it in so many words at the time, but it’s true. I am an excellent judge of character, even when I don’t know why myself.” He laughed. “And you showed your character then. You would do what you thought was right, no matter how hard. Once you realized working with us was right – I knew you would follow through.”

“I could have been lying.”

“Aye, you could’ve. And I could’ve killed you the moment you unchained me. I didn’t. And you weren’t.”

“And look at us now.” Jon breathed in the morning air and felt it run clean through his lungs. Tormund’s footsteps beat a steady rhythm beside him, falling in sync with his own.

“Look at us now,” Tormund repeated. “I’m glad I trusted you, little crow.”


	3. Chapter 3

 Jon crept through the forest, Karsi at his side. They’d been tracking a group of deer for most of the day now, hoping to get close enough to get a clean shot on a second. The first was waiting back along their path, strung up in a tree – something Jon would never have thought of but which was obvious to Karsi.

He’d never felt entirely confident in his skills in the wilderness, and he felt even less so now. Even the greatest rangers he had seen didn’t understand the land the way the free folk did. Qhorin Halfhand himself had admitted he couldn’t move about it the way they could.

Karsi glared over at him. “You move like a mammoth.”

“Why did you take me, then?’ Jon asked. He crouched on a ledge, looking out over the small valley below.

“In the hope that, eventually, you won’t.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “You see anything?”

“Hold on. Be patient.”

Wind blew through the trees above them. Jon peered out into the woods, but he couldn’t distinguish the movement of the bushes from any prey. The way they hunted in the south was completely different – it was more about the drinking and the talking than the hunting. If they made one kill in a week, well, that was enough to make a point. Even with the night’s watch they’d hunted for less people with more leeway. He knew that back at camp there were hundreds waiting for the meat they returned with. There would be other kills, and roots and berries found frozen under the snow, but if they failed here there would be hungry bellies tonight.

Karsi moved so suddenly and so silently it took Jon a moment to catch up. He did his best to follow. For all her protestations, he was quiet enough. He saw the herd ahead just before she crouched behind a rise and nocked an arrow. He did the same as she’d instructed – if his shot missed, she would make a second attempt.

His shot didn’t miss. It struck true, and the forest exploded in sound as the herd scattered and birds flew out of the trees. Karsi followed Jon over to the spot of the kill. “Well done,” She said. “Not bad, for a crow.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, deciding to take it as a compliment. “Though I’m not sure I’m a crow anymore.”

“Former crow, anyway. You’re not quite free folk yet.”

Jon smiled. “Give it time.”

They carried the deer back to where they’d left the first one, and then pulled them both back on a sledge. The hard labor started to wear on Jon, and they paused at the top of a hill for a moment. He was glad to see that Karsi was tired as well. At least he wasn’t entirely behind.

There was a beautiful view out at the top of the hill. Karsi stood looking out, and Jon came and stood beside her.

“Nothing beats it, does it?”

“No.” Jon sighed. “You ever get tired of it?”

“Never.” Karsi smiled a knowing smile. “You understand now, Jon Snow? You see any castles, any kingdoms? Out here, the land is just the land, and we all need it. We’re free to do as we like, because there’s no kings to tell us how to live just because we’re standing in _their land_.”

Jon tried to look, the way she did. He understood the words she said, but he saw there was some deeper meaning in them that was hidden to him. “I don’t think I can really understand them.”

“Like you said. Give it time.”

She turned away, and Jon stood a moment longer. He wanted to understand, he realized. He wanted to be one of the free folk, truly, the way she was, the way Tormund was. All his life he’d tried to be honorable and true to his word. Those things would always matter to him. His father – he might be uncle by blood, but Ned Stark was still his father – would always be a part of him. But perhaps freedom and love and respect were important too. He turned around, and helped Karsi push the sledge down the hill.

 

***

 

There was the entrance to a cave system up ahead, according to a few of the sap-folk. Apparently it was an old hideout of theirs, one which the cave people had occupied on and off for a thousand years; a treaty let them use it. If there were wildlings still alive anywhere in the north, this would be one of those places. A small party who knew the place went ahead to scout it out, while the rest waited tensely for them to return.

Jon sat with Ghost and Tormund and watched. They had been riding together more over the last few weeks, sticking close as Tormund taught him about the lands around them. Jon passed the time idly fixing the fletching on some of his arrows. It reminded him of Ygritte, for a moment – she always used to do this when she was nervous. The thought was like a punch in the gut. She should be with him now. She’d almost made it. Everything would be different, if she’d lived.

Before he could finish following that train of thought, Tormund stood. Jon looked up to see a group coming up over the hill. There were twice as many as they’d left with. Shouts rose through the camp. Jon tucked his arrows away and followed Tormund up towards the group.

“There are more still waiting in the caves,” The man at the front of the group was saying. “More than we could ever have hoped for.”

The elders, plus Jon and a few others, followed them back to the caves. They walked down along the floor of a valley and around a sharp bend, where the entrance was little more than a crack among the boulders. Anticipation ran high, their steps quick, all of them eerily silent. Jon followed Tormund down into the cave, slipping through far more easily than it looked like he should be able to. It opened up soon after, the floor cleared and smoothed out by hundreds of feet over its history. The short tunnel emptied into a wide open room. Lanterns on the walls lit the space dimly.

Waiting, sitting around the walls and gathered in groups on the floor, were at least a hundred wildlings. Half were dressed like Jon had seen before, in their furs and adornments. The other half were wearing much lighter clothing, in a completely different style, woven of what seemed to be some fungus or tree-root. One of them stepped forward, still wary of the intruders. He stepped up close to Brynne, leader of the sap-folk, and whispered to her.

Suddenly a shriek broke out from further back in the cave, and a small figure came running at them. Before Jon could make out his features in the light he collided with Tormund, throwing his arms around his waist.

Tormund’s eyes grew wide in shock, and then he yelled out and picked the boy up. “Dryn!! Oh, I thought we’d lost you!”

Realization dawned. Tormund had only mentioned his children a couple of times, but Jon knew he’d assumed, like the rest of them, that they had died somewhere along the way. But here he was, in Tormund’s arms, alive. His hair was longer than Tormund’s, but it had the same fire, the same rough waves.

A girl followed, a little slower. She was grinning from ear to ear as she watched Tormund and Dryn. She was a little older – around Arya’s age, he thought – with dark brown hair and flushed, ruddy skin. Tormund looked up for a moment and saw her. “Rylla!”

She rushed forward and joined them. Tormund was crying, Jon suddenly realized, and his heart swelled. He’d found it hard to feel much of anything since he’d left king’s landing. Now, though, watching them, he felt tears coming to his own eyes. There was nothing to fear or worry over about this, only joy. He watched them and smiled at how soft and gentle Tormund seemed to suddenly become, holding them close.

Finally he let them go. “How did you find your way here?” He asked Rylla.

“It was a narrow escape, that one, but we gathered as many people as we could while running from the walkers. One of them knew about this place.” Her face darkened with sorrow. “They never found us here, but we lost plenty along the way. I haven’t heard a word of Munda.”

Tormund put a hand on her shoulder. “You did well. I’m so very proud of you.”

“Papa,” Dryn said, pulling at his sleeve. “Do we get to go home now?”

Tormund stilled, and the smile fell from his face. He shook his head. “There’s nothing for us at home. We’re going to go build a new home, ok?”

Dryn frowned, and then nodded. He leaned forward and hugged Tormund again. Over their heads, Tormund looked up at Jon and smiled. It took Jon aback for a moment, and then he smiled in return. They’d been through so much together, he felt Tormund’s joy like it was his own.

Whatever negotiations had been going on in the meantime finished, and they started to filter out of the cave. The cave-people would stay behind. They had been relatively undisturbed here, and they could continue to live as before, knowing that it was safe to come aboveground now. The rest of the free folk here would come with them to the new settlement.

Once they’d gotten out of the cave and were waiting for the rest to leave, Tormund came up to Jon, Dryn and Rylla each under an arm. He stopped. “Here’s someone I’d like you to meet,” He said. “This is Jon. We’re very good friends.”

“Hello,” Jon said. “I’m so glad you two are alright.”

Dryn peered at him, still shy, but Rylla seemed to be staring into his soul. “You don’t talk like you’re from the north. What kind of a name is Jon?”

Tormund laughed. “She’s onto you, Snow. Jon’s from down south. He used to be a crow. A lot has changed. Does that bother you?”

She looked up at Tormund in shock, then back at Jon, her eyes narrowing. “But you like him?”

“Aye, he can be a right pain, but I like him well enough.” Tormund raised his eyebrows, and Jon rolled his eyes in return.

“Well, as long as he stays out of black, he can stick around.” She offered an arm. “Good to meet you, Jon.” Jon clasped her forearm as he’d seen others do. She smiled and let go, turning away. “Now can I finish my story, hm?”

“This one talks nearly as much as I do! Look out for her, Jon – she’ll never let you get away!”

 

***

 

Tormund found Jon just as he’d gotten into his tent that night. He stuck his head in with no regard for manners or courtesy, but Jon couldn’t say he minded. With all his usual animation and a little bit more drunkenness, he’d managed to convince Jon to join him for a drink, to celebrate.

“Where are Dryn and Rylla?” Jon asked, as Tormund climbed into the tent. “I thought you’d be catching up with them.”

“They’re asleep already. We were running around catching up all afternoon.” He pulled the furs around until he’d made a good spot for himself, and handed Jon a flask. “They’re children. I, on the other hand, have more stamina. I am _not_ done for the night.”

Jon laughed and pulled the cork out of the flask. “Then I suppose I’m not either,” He said. He caught a whiff of the drink and pushed it away from himself. “Ugh, this is that horrible goat’s milk, isn’t it.”

“It’s easier to make than most else. You’ll have to wait until we’re settled to have a better drink. Go on, you’ll get used to it.”

Jon shook his head and handed the flask back to Tormund. “Luckily, I still have some wine left.” He reached out of the tent into his bags and fished it out with relief. Perhaps he would have to get used to sour goat’s milk eventually, but now was not the time.

Tormund snorted with laughter and took it back. “I will say, I did get a taste for your wine down south. Perhaps all those shit lands past the wall have some merit after all.”

“Watch it. I’m from those shit lands.” Jon grinned.

“Very well. Those shit lands gave me good wine and Jon Snow.” He raised his drink. “To the south!”

Jon shook his head but raised his own. “To the south.” The wine burned pleasantly as it went down, a little stronger than he was used to, but he didn’t mind. “Why are you here, Tormund? I’m sure there are others who would be more than happy to share a drink with you, and much better company besides.”

“None of them are you,” Tormund said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jon’s breath caught in his throat. In the dim, warm light from the lantern sitting at the edge of the tent, Tormund’s face looked open and adoring. His eyes were soft, and the barest smile played across his lips. Jon felt pinned down by his gaze, watched and seen like he’d never been. His thoughts ground to a halt.

After just a moment that dragged on for what felt like hours, Tormund turned away to bury his hands in the fur at Ghost’s neck. “And none of them have such a beautiful wolf,” He said. Jon kept staring as Tormund leaned down to plant a kiss on top of Ghost’s head, and Ghost rolled over happily. It looked so right, seeing him here like this. Jon wondered when that had happened – when Tormund had become so important to him. When he’d become so familiar. Through all the war and death and turmoil he’d been right there by his side. They’d had no time for moments like this, but it still felt entirely natural.

For the first time in months – years, even – he felt content. There was no other obligation nagging in the back of his mind, no expectation of greatness, no politics. There was just him, and this tent, and Ghost, and the wine in his belly, and Tormund. The furs he was wearing seemed to blend with the furs on the floor, forming one soft small world around him.

“I was so glad to see you with Dryn and Rylla earlier,” Jon said. “What are the chances, finding them out here?”

“What does it matter? They’re here now.” Tormund laid down all the way next to Ghost. “And now I can keep them safe again.”

“Did Rylla tell you any more of what happened to her?”

Tormund beamed. “She led the expedition that found that cave, with a few others. They fought wights and the cold and storms to come here. She’s incredible. But she had incredible parents, so of course she is,” He added with his usual teasing smile.

“Who was their mother?” Jon asked.

“Her name was Trista. She came from the islands off the eastern shore. We met when all the clans first came together under Mance. She was fierce, even fiercer than me – our relationship was fickle and easy. We had the children, and she saw them often, but in truth I raised them more than she did,” Tormund said softly, lost in his own thoughts. “Though she certainly left some of herself in them, especially Rylla.”

“Do you know where she is now?” Jon asked. He worried that she was yet another casualty of the war, and didn’t want to bring it up if so, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Tormund shook his head. “Last I saw her, she was still in Mance’s army. She wasn’t at Hardhome, so I can only assume she fled somewhere else after the battles at the wall. She’s likely dead – but I thought the same of Rylla and Dryn. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere out there.”

“I hope she’s alright. You had another daughter, yes? Munda?”

“I do. Rylla knows nothing. Same as their mother – she could be anywhere.” A deep sadness and worry crept into his expression. Jon’s heart sank in sympathy, and he laid a hand on Tormund’s arm in support, however little. “I miss her,” Tormund whispered.

“We’re not here to worry about that, are we. We’re here to celebrate what we have.”

“You’re right. I think we both need to drink more.”

Jon laughed. “I suppose so.”

They did just that. They laughed, and drank, and told old stories. Between all the horror there had been more laughter than Jon had remembered – small moments where the world hadn’t weighed so heavily on him. Tormund brought up how Jon had knelt when they’d first met and in retaliation Jon talked of all the tales he’d told, each less believable than the last.

This simple thing was easier than anything Jon had done in years. Tormund could cheer him up like no one else. They called him tall-talker among the free folk when they wanted to poke fun at him, and the nickname was apt. Tormund could make any story into more than it was, but never out of true unearned pride – only for the joy of laughter.

More than that, though, Jon could let his walls down around Tormund. There was no point pretending to be more or less than they were, they’d known each other far too long for that. So when all the posturing was gone, there was just them, two people united by years of fighting against each other and together, but always for the same thing. Jon had no need for titles here. Here, he was just Jon.

After one too many drinking games and two empty bottles, Tormund fell asleep in Jon’s tent, cuddled up next to Ghost. Jon considered waking him up for a moment but he looked far too comfortable. Besides, his presence warmed the tent, and it was nice to be a little less cold for once. Instead Jon settled in on Ghost’s other side and blew out the lantern. Listening to their quiet breathing, mingled with the wind outside, he slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep.

 

***

 

Jon was walking near the middle of the crowd when he heard the shouts start to go up ahead. He knew they were near to the place they’d decided to settle – it seemed they had found it. They crested a ridge, and Jon looked down upon his new home.

A large lake lay settled in the southern end of the valley they’d been travelling through, it’s shores rocky, with pines clinging to frosted cliffs. Near where the river met the lake there was a wide pebbled beach, and beyond it a low gently sloping shore bounded by cliffs. There were caves and hot springs buried in those cliffs, as those around him pointed out, and they would shelter their little village from the worst of the wind.

Past the cliffs, rolling hills slowly built into craggy mountains in the distance, blanketed by a deep forest of pine and aspen. Weirwood trees dotted the landscape, their leaves still on even in the depths of winter. Jon could already picture the smoke rising from their cookfires in his mind’s eye.

With a smile on his face, Jon followed the wave of excitement forward. Here he’d begin a new chapter, build a new life. Here, he’d try to live again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @tormvnd!


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